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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24730426">Room 106</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavenmalore/pseuds/cavenmalore'>cavenmalore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>13 Reasons Why (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Gen, Hurt Justin Foley, Implied Sexual Content, Implied homelessness, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, implied prostitution</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:02:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24730426</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavenmalore/pseuds/cavenmalore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin couldn’t peel his eyes away from the doors of the motel rooms. It was Friday night, which meant that a lot of the rooms would be filled by now, most likely with his old customers. He cycled through each of their faces, imagining them in the widows with any of the boys that he had known from International Boulevard, where they had stood on display, like sitting ducks. Anxiety curled in his gut. It’s late, he rationalized, it’s late enough that if anyone wanted to come here, they would be fucking already.<br/>Tony jumped in, his temper short. “Can you guys just decide what to do already before we spend all night on this fucking--”<br/>“Nick?”<br/>Justin cursed every deity he could think of for doing exactly nothing for him.<br/>Nobody had called him Nick in a very long time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Justin Foley/Original Character(s), Tyler Down &amp; Justin Foley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Room 106</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is going to be more of a character study, if anything. I wanted to write something about season 4 but this came out instead, whoops. This fic was inspired by season 4 and hustlers lol </p><p>Ziggy isn't supposed to be a character that you know, just someone referenced for the sake of fleshing out Justin's life on the streets. I might write something with her later (because she was originally supposed to be in this, but the plot kinda got away from me) but no promises. Same deal with Benny.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Zach and Jess were fighting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear it’s just one more block!” Zach insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have been saying that for the last half hour,” Jess refuted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have been saying that,” Tyler hesitantly added. Zach shot him a death glare and he hunched over again, turning his body back towards Clay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just give it up,” Jess continued, “We passed plenty of bars while we walked. Let’s just go to one of them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon Zach,” Ani continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! This place is supposed to be awesome. It’s just one more block,” Zach repeated while Jess groaned in frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had been walking around Oakland for about forty-five minutes. After pre-gaming, Zach had proposed that for their “epic-blackout-inducing-night-out” (with Justin as designated driver, of course)  they would continue the night at a club called Duffy’s in Oakland; apparently he had heard from a guy in school that the place was insane, and most importantly, didn’t card very thoroughly. But they had been walking for what felt like forever and couldn’t find the bar, and everyone was starting to lose their patience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin rolled his eyes at the exchange, standing a couple feet away from the group. Fighting had always put him on edge. Clay’s therapist would probably say that was from watching his mom and her boyfriend-of-the-month fight for years, but Justin wasn’t particularly interested in following that emotional thread. His skin prickled and he twisted his fingers to stop himself from covering his ears with his hands. It wasn’t just the argument that put him on edge, though. The neon green glow of the motel sign cast a shadow over everyone's’ faces. Justin had been here more than enough times in his lifetime, countless men pushing his face into a stained mattress to get their money’s worth. It was unbearable to be standing outside of this place. The only thing more unbearable was telling his friends that he wanted to leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is stupid,” Alex interjected, Tony nodding in agreement, “Let’s just go somewhere else.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin couldn’t peel his eyes away from the doors of the motel rooms. It was Friday night, which meant that a lot of the rooms would be filled by now, most likely with his old customers. He cycled through each of their faces, imagining them in the widows with any of the boys that he had known from International Boulevard, where they had stood on display, like sitting ducks. Anxiety curled in his gut. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s late</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he rationalized, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s late enough that if anyone wanted to come here, they would be fucking already. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony jumped in, his temper short. “Can you guys just decide what to do already before we spend all night on this fucking--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nick?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin cursed every deity he could think of for doing exactly nothing for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody had called him Nick in a very long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could he not think of the fact that one of his old clients might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>finishing </span>
  </em>
  <span>around this time, not starting? Every John was different; some wanted to start as soon as the sun went down while others toed the sunrise. He turned slightly to face the man that had just exited a motel room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Antwon,” Justin tried to suppress the nervous hitch in his voice and resisted the urge to look at his friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antwon smiled and Justin swallowed nervously. Antwon looked slightly disheveled, his Armani suit rumpled as if he had thrown it on the floor and left it there; the buttons of his shirt weren’t done properly. Cheeks reddened and sweat beading his hairline, his eyes were alight. Despite the appearance of a man clearly caught in the act, Antwon stood with his feet wide and his hands in his pockets. Justin had always thought that Antwon looked too nice, too </span>
  <em>
    <span>expensive</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be picking up teenage boys from a shady corner of Oakland -- he should’ve been at a high class strip club with gorgeous women draping themselves on his lap. Instead, he stood outside a slumped motel, devouring Justin with his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’ve you been, Nick? I’ve missed you,” Antwon took a step forward and Justin wanted nothing more to step back, but he held his ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you too,” Justin replied automatically. He wasn’t exactly sure why; he didn’t miss Antwon, his hands that held him down hard enough to leave bruises, his cologne that smothered him, his knees holding Justin’s legs open as he--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin snapped himself back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antwon was standing right in front of him now and Justin could see the flutter of his eyelashes as he gazed over his favorite prostitute. Antwon used to be one of the regulars, providing a little stability in his life when he was homeless. He just had to do whatever Antwon wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck are you?” Clay asked behind him and Justin couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t let Antwon talk to his friends or vice versa -- they would only rile each other up. That couldn’t happen. The others didn’t know how dangerous Antwon could be when he was angry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Antwon ignored them. “Who are they?” He asked, running his fingers delicately over Justin’s jaw. The same cologne made Justin’s eyes water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody you need to worry about,” Justin smiled at him, the way that he had smiled at so many men before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look at me, focus on me, not the others, I’m the one you wanna look at, I’m the one you want to take home. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Nick, you don’t know the night I’ve had,” Antwon complained, “I looked for you, you know? I would drive by your old spot and look for you. But you disappeared.” Antwon’s other hand grabbed Justin’s arm possessively. Faintly, Justin could hear shuffling behind him, as if someone had moved forward but was then pulled back. He had to get a lid on this </span>
  <em>
    <span>fast</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Justin apologized, his voice dripping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antwon hummed. “You’re not high, are you?” He stated and answered. “No. That’s a shame. You were so beautiful when you were high, your eyes all glazed over. I could do whatever I wanted to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bile rose in his throat. The words were low, low enough that they didn’t carry across the parking lot, but reverberated clear as day inside his skull.  He could hear one of his friends saying something, but the words wouldn’t register. All he could think of was the feeling of bed sheets beneath him, unrelenting pressure keeping him pinned, his arms too weak to do anything but flop in protest. The room was spinning, spinning, spinning, but no matter how much the room flew Justin was stuck, Antwon buried in him until it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt, stop it, it hurts, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he couldn’t get his mouth to work and then the euphoria hit again and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly it was as if someone pushed the emergency button in Justin’s brain. He pushed the nausea, the fear, the pain, down until he could think again, could see Antwon in front of him and hear his friends murmuring behind him. And Justin knew he needed to get control of this before it spiraled anymore and his friends decided this wasn’t like when Justin ran into people from his old neighborhood, interactions he could handle himself, but a serious situation that required intervention. So Justin pushed it all down -- shut down the hurricane of anxiety that swirled in his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin ran his heavy fingers over Antwon’s chest and made a noise of agreement. “You always were so good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I had known that you were going to be here tonight, I wouldn’t have bothered with that other whore.” He smirked at Justin, his hand went under Justin’s chin, “But who knows? Maybe once we get started…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friends were definitely going to intervene any second now, he didn’t have to turn around to know. Justin had hoped that this would be nothing more than a quick reunion, Antwon would peacock and leave. That wasn’t going to happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin had developed a lot of survival tricks over the years. He could take a hit or ten, he could sleep under a dumpster, and could turn the shittiest sink in a public restroom into an all-inclusive shower. Being a sex worker required different skills. Of course, he had to know the basics: blowjobs, handjobs, the XXX-rated stuff. He had to be able to sense danger; beggars couldn’t be choosers but Justin had to know when getting into a John’s car was more danger than profit. The skill Justin had to use, though, wasn’t any of those. It was what allowed Justin to stand on the corner, shivering and exposed, waiting for a stranger to shatter him. It was what made Justin get in car after car despite the warning bells and emergency sirens blaring in his nerves. It was what allowed Justin to drape himself over men that made him want to gag, run his hands over their bodies and call them beautiful, let them do the same to him. It was what allowed Justin to be called every degrading name in the book, do every degrading action for a couple of bills that would be wasted trying to forget the bitter aftertaste in the back of his throat (because no matter what anybody said, Justin wasn’t a quitter). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin turned off his shame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Antwon, you know I would love nothing more than to do that,” Justin purred, batting his eyelashes and scratching his nails against Antwon’s nipples the way he knew the man liked it. “But I can’t leave my friends over here -- they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>such </span>
  </em>
  <span>buzzkills, you know.” Antwon nodded, his gaze traveling behind Justin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, focus on me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Justin slipped his hand lower, lightly palming Antwon through his pants. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good, look at me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Antwon kissed him hard and rough, engulfing his lips and forcing his tongue into Justin’s mouth. It was almost enough to make Justin break if he wasn’t a professional. “God, I’ve missed you,” Antown repeated when they broke away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin swallowed down the guilt, thinking of Jess standing behind him, watching him kiss another man. Watching him </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheat</span>
  </em>
  <span> with another man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you too, baby,” Justin said anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Antwon suddenly squeezed Justin’s chin and Justin’s breath hitched. “Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>disappear on me again. Understand?” Justin jerked his head. “Good. You’re the only one of these whores worth a fuck anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin almost collapsed right there onto the pavement. Air came rushing back into him and he could hardly catch up, his breathing picking up speed. He sensed his friends gathering around him. Hands reached out and steadied him and he felt Jess rubbing soothing circles on his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he gasped out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m sorry. For cheating on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Justin, you didn’t cheat on me.” Jessica looked confused. “What happened over there? That wasn’t you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I-” Justin took a deep, shuddering breath. His breathing began to slow down and he could focus on the faces surrounding him again. Clay looked murderous and Tony looked like he was gearing up for a fight too. Zach shuffled his feet, unable to meet Justin’s eyes. Alex was staring at him hard, as if Justin was an optical illusion he could understand if he just looked long enough. Jess and Ani were standing next to him while Tyler hung back, a couple steps behind everyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin couldn’t bring himself to keep looking at all of them. “I’m really sorry, guys. If I knew that Antwon was going to be here I never would have--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, stop it,” Clay cut him off. “It wasn’t your fault.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that guy was a total creep,” Alex added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the hell was he?” Zach finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin swallowed, glancing at the motel room door that Antwon had walked out of. </span>
</p>
<ol>

</ol><p>
  <span>Of course. The same room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was, uh, a guy I used to know. Back when I used to live,” Justin paused, “in Oakland,” he said lamely. That’s what they called it. Not homelessness. Not sleeping wherever Justin convinced himself was safe, until it wasn’t. Living in Oakland. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you two used to…” Ani didn’t finish the sentence but he understood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, Justin,” Clay murmured, running his hand down his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His throat was so dry. Absently, he wondered if he could sneak into one of the rooms and get something to drink. There were no complimentary water bottles but the tap water was safe enough. He looked at 106 again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin had spent too many hours in that room. Too many hours making grown men happy with his adoselence, his childhood innocence. Justin didn’t think he had had any left -- not after meth in the living room and his mom’s boyfriend in his bed at night and bruises without a mom who cared enough to kiss them better. But that motel room had taught him that there was always farther to fall, more to lose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And dammit if it wasn’t a night full of reunions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Benny. Benny! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Benny!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Benny looked up and Justin had spent so much time worrying about seeing a John and dealing with Antwon he never spared a thought for whoever Antwon </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been having sex with that night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, Benny made his way across the parking lot. Justin recognized the slight limp in his step and moved to meet him, his friends a couple steps behind him. As he came closer, he could make out the bruising on Benny’s arms and face, his own phantom pains aching even though they had healed months ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“J?” Benny asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin bobbed his head. “Hey, Benny.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hadn’t been particularly close, but they hung around the same areas to run in the same circles. Remembering license plate numbers, sharing a lighter at the docks, vouching at slum; it wasn’t a lot, but it was binding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, man, I haven’t seen you in forever.” Benny blew out a breath. “Rumor was some old fucker killed you or something, but I didn’t believe it.” Justin grinned at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fucking wish,” Justin joked. “Nah, some friends picked me up. Cleaned me up, all that shit.” Justin jerked his head behind him and Benny’s eyes followed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucky. What are you doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>though?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I thought ‘why not come back for old times sake?’” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Benny laughed. “Oh yeah, nothing gets me going like watching some pedophiles get their rocks off.” They grinned at each other. It was the easy kind of joke that Justin would’ve stumbled around when among Liberty kids. But Benny was different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin noted the way that Benny was swaying, shuffling side to side to ease the pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously though, man, are you okay? I know Antwon can get a little,” he hesitated, “rough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking away, Benny swallowed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing that can’t be fixed...” </span>
  <em>
    <span>With a good shot of heroin straight to the elbow, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Justin finished mentally. He knew that feeling. Getting high just to be able to go through with it and getting high to be able to forget about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Justin’s elbow itched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood in silence, feet scuffing against the pavement and memories scraping at their brains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Absently, he remembered that Benny prefered meth to heroin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin broke first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should go to Ziggy’s. She’ll let you lay down and stuff. Recuperate.” Benny opened his mouth and suddenly Justin remembered. “Oh shit, it’s Friday night. She’s working.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and I’m not looking to go sit outside her door till 6 A.M.,” Benny agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just go to the club. She’ll give you the spare key and you can just let yourself in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin had done that a few times when things were really bad. He would show up at the strip club looking like he was on the verge of death, the bouncer just barely letting him in when he insisted on talking to Ziggy. She would scan him up and down, her lips pressed together and wordlessly hand him the key to her apartment. “Don’t steal anything,” she would order. Then, she would turn her 8-inch heel and walk back into the laps of men who looked like Antwon, just with a different kind of rot beneath the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, J.” Benny gave him a small smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, any time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Benny turned and limped away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Justin liked to imagine that he would take the suggestion, pull Ziggy off the pole and let himself rest on her vomit-orange couch that sagged in the middle, too tired to move but too hurt to sleep without the kind of help that etched exhaustion into your bones. But he knew better. Benny would limp back to International and do it all again. And again. And again. Until the sun rose and all those men would clean themselves up and step back into their lives, their clean homes and clean reputations. Meanwhile, Benny would spend the day wishing he could wash off the bugs that crawled under his skin that felt suspiciously like hands and disperse the wind that felt like hot breath on the back of his neck saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, yeah, that’s it, scream for me, stop moving, you’re so fucking beautiful. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin knew because for six months he limped back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Justin.” Clay. Behind him. He knew that they had to talk about this eventually. Explain himself and Benny and Antwon and the life that none of them could ever dream to understand -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>never dream to understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going home.” Justin was so fucking tired. Tired enough to sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Tired enough to sleep for the next six months. Tired enough to sleep without the help of a needle in his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A needle in his arm </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>help. Just a little bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus, he wanted a needle in his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take you home.” Surprisingly, it was Tyler who spoke up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Justin wasn’t about to pass up a free ride. He started walking without waiting for Tyler, without looking at any of his friends. That was a problem for tomorrow, when his shame came back and embarrassment soured his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked in silence back to Tyler’s car. Justin only allowed his brain to think about how grateful he was that they had taken separate cars to Oakland. He didn’t let himself wonder what the rest of them were going to do now that the two designated drivers had left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin eased himself into the passenger seat and rested his head against the window. Buildings ran together outside the window and people blurred on the street. Justin tried not to look at them, the stragglers who had his face if he looked close enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was so afraid,” The light was red, music playing softly from the speaker. Tyler didn’t look at Justin as he spoke, eyes straight ahead, “after. I couldn’t stop looking for him everywhere.” No name. There wouldn’t be any names for this conversation. “I would look and look and when I saw him I would just freeze. And I was back in that bathroom.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Justin’s elbow </span>
  <em>
    <span>ached</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “It was the same motel room.” He chuckled a little, the air scraping against his dry throat. “106. Every Friday night, he would take me to that room and do whatever he wanted. I-I could </span>
  <em>
    <span>smell</span>
  </em>
  <span>--” Justin cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut and starting again. “It was never the same motel room. Different guys would go to different places. Even the regulars, they would just grab whatever room was open. But, I don’t know, he was different. I guess he wanted to be familiar or something with the room if he decided to kill me in it.” Justin softly snorted at his own joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you think he was going to?” Tyler asked quietly, “Kill you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes. I tried to avoid them -- you can tell when a guy really doesn’t seem right. But sometimes, sometimes they surprise you.” Justin paused. “And sometimes, you don’t even care.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was more than he had ever said to Clay -- more than he had ever said to </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- but Tyler took it in stride. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s how I felt, when I was planning on, you know. I just didn’t even care what happened. Live or die. I just didn’t care.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He, uh, caught me by surprise once.” Justin didn’t know why he was sharing this. Nobody else knew this story and he had intended to take it to the grave. But the car rocked slowly and Tyler’s face was draped in shadows; the world was at a perfect in between. “He tried to do something we hadn’t talked about, I-I didn’t want. I tried to stop him, I tried to fight back but he was stronger. He grabbed me by the throat and squeezed,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>like Seth, </span>
  </em>
  <span>“while he, uh, thrusted. I thought, ‘this is it; you’re gonna die in some fucking motel with another guys cum in your ass’. But I lived. And that night I went out and bought whatever I could get -- shot it all up. It’s a miracle I didn’t fucking overdose on the fucking sidewalk or get mugged. After that I just…stopped fighting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m sorry, Justin. I’m sorry that happened to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took everything in him not to break when Tyler said that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For months after he moved into the Jensen’s, people would come up to him with pity gleaming in their eyes. They would say everything: </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s horrible, ugh you poor thing, you’re so brave. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But none of them had said that. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry that happened to you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, thanks.” Justin refused to cry, instead speaking past the lump in his throat. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that happened to you too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spent the rest of the ride in silence.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you liked it, please leave kudos! And if you really liked it, leave a comment! I seriously love them, no matter the length.</p><p>If you wanna talk about 13rw, hit me up at @caven---malore on tumblr!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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